


12 Days of Death Eaters

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Brutality, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Frottage, Kidnapping, Murder, Oral Sex, Rimming, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-03-26 19:48:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13864767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: All the trappings, trimmings and twisted trouble all our favourite Death Eaters can find themselves in this Christmas. Featuring Thorfinn Rowle; Antonin Dolohov; Bellatrix, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange; Draco and Lucius Malfoy; Alecto Carrow; Severus Snape; Regulus Black; Theodore Nott; and Orias Mulciber.





	1. Seating Charts & Secret Santas

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Getting in the spirit this Yuletide Season in true Death Eater Express style, I've decided to post 12 Days worth of Death Eater Drabbles. Each day will see a new, unrelated, Christmas-themed drabble about a different Death Eater. I hope you enjoy them. Much love and Happy Holidays! xx-Kitten.

****

**1** **2 Days of Death Eaters**

_By Kittenshift17_

* * *

**Chapter 1: Seating Charts and Secret Santas**

* * *

_Rodolphus Lestrange_

* * *

"Is he serious?" Rodolphus Lestrange leaned over to whisper in his wife's ear, both of them eyeing the Dark Lord like he'd grown an extra head.

He'd just announced his desire to initiate a circle-wide Secret Santa exchange between his most loyal Death Eaters.

"Erm…" Bella murmured in reply, tipping her head to one side as though changing the angle she looked at the man might somehow make it more or less clear that he, surely, must be jesting.

"My Lord?" Severus asked, the faintest of creases appearing between his dark eyebrows.

Ah, Severus. He could always be counted on to ensure clarity from the Dark Lord.

"Ssssomething unclear, Sssseverussss?" the Dark Lord purred, raising one dark eyebrow of his own.

He'd performed some kind of magic to regain the disgustingly delicious good looks of his prime years recently and it was still taking Rodolphus some time to adjust to the notion of their Dark Lord not bearing the terrible snake-like features he'd grown accustomed to since his most recent escape from Azkaban prison.

"You wish to initiate a Secret Santa, my Lord?" Severus asked. "Would that be…. Voluntary participation?"

The Dark Lord's cold, ringing laughter was boisterously loud in the long hall within Malfoy Manor where they conducted their meeting.

"Voluntary, Severus? Come now, I am no fool. How many of you would willingly sign on to play my little game this festive season if I allowed you the chance not to participate? You are all hardly the Christmas type," the Dark Lord continued to chuckle. "No. You will all be participating. I have a list of who will by gifting whom."

The wizard proceeded to pull a stack of blood-red envelopes from within the pocket of his robes before he began passing them out.

"It's like the seating chart all over again," Rabastan leaned over to snigger very softly in Rodolphus's ear.

The snort escaped him, unbidden, at the memory of the fucking seating chart for their meetings. Based upon rank and who had most pleased or displeased him, their Dark Lord had designed and frequently updated the circle's Seating Chart based on who must sit where when in his presence like this. He could often be heard muttering about it, in between complaints and curses about Potter, and it was a source of great amusement between Rodolphus and his brother.

Rodolphus watched on as the envelopes were all passed out amongst followers, everyone looking rather uncomfortable over the idea of buying a gift for any of their fellow followers. The Dark Lord surely must be unhinging. He was certainly a far cry, these days, from the man he'd been when Bellatrix, and Rodolphus by association, had so fallen under his spell.

"My Lord is there to be some sort of… etiquette… to the gift giving process?" Narcissa Malfoy spoke up.

Rodolphus smirked. His sister in law truly did her Black heritage proud with such poise and such questions. He'd been watching her for some time now, since moving into the Manor and indeed, since his escape. Where his own bride was ravaged by the many long years spent in Azkaban, her breathtakingly beautiful visage diminished by the horror of their shared cell, Narcissa was more radiant than ever. And, more importantly, she never waned in her endeavour for all things to be proper, poised and as poignantly pureblooded as possible.

"Ah, my sweet Narcissa," the Dark Lord purred, rounding the table to hand the witch her crimson envelope before cupping her jaw adoringly.

Rodolphus smirked as Lucius's fists tightened in his lap, his back stiffening at the idea of anyone, even the Dark Lord, laying a hand upon his wife.

"We will, of course, observe full Yuletide customs in all things this season," the Dark Lord crooned to the witch. "You will, I do not doubt, dazzle us with your skills as a hostess of fine parties with all the trimmings?"

"Of course, my Lord," Narcissa nodded her head, playing her part well as she allowed her head to rest adoringly in the Dark Lord's hand for a few moments. "Perhaps a tree within the hall here where everyone may deposit their gifts for one another anonymously to ensure the surprise is not spoiled when the gift is opened, my Lord?"

"You think of everything," the Dark Lord praised her and Narcissa's cheeks turned a fine shade of pink that Rodolphus knew stirred many a Death Eater to arduous desire.

Rodolphus accepted his own envelope from the Dark Lord with a nod and a tight smile, trying very hard to avoid looking at his younger brother, who seemed to be having a good deal of trouble holding back his laughter.

"Ssssomething amuses you, Rabastan?" the Dark Lord asked, obviously noticing.

"I am easily amused, my Lord," Rabastan offered with a slight chuckle.

"Yes, small minds often are," the Dark Lord replied before handing him his envelope.

Across the table, Rodolphus spotted Severus in the process of opening his letter to learn the victim of his gift-giving ineptitude, no doubt. A chuckle found its way free of him as well when he saw Snape's eyes flash in what looked like disappointment, followed by annoyance.

A chuckle bubbled free of him at the idea that he suspected the Dark Lord's twisted humour had found them paired with their least favourite associates. Meaning Severus had likely just discovered that he would be required to shop for Bella.

Opening his own letter, Rodolphus's laughter grew when he spotted the name Lysander Yaxley. Of course it was Yaxley. The man who'd been a thorn in his side since they'd been teenagers and Yaxley had challenged Rodolphus's betrothal to Bella. Oh, but Rodolphus knew just what to get the git.

The heart of a virgin on a silver platter. Yalexy's daughter, perhaps?


	2. Mistletoe Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Canimal is responsible for the characterisation in this. ie. She's the one who first put me onto the idea of Alecto being obsessed with Antonin.

**12 Days of Death Eaters**

_By Kittenshift17_

* * *

**Chapter 2: Mistletoe Mistakes**

* * *

_Alecto Carrow_

* * *

"What the…?" Antonin Dolohov growled, and Alecto Carrow's heart soared at the sudden feel of being stuck in place and unable to move.

Finally.

It had finally happened. After days and days spent sidling up to Antonin at every available opportunity, the charmed mistletoe within Malfoy Manor was  _finally_  cooperating.

"Is that mistletoe?" Antonin growled in a low voice, his eyes closing in horror as he refused to look at the evidence that he was going to have to snog her if he wanted to get free.

Alecto giggled.

"Yes," she simpered, beyond thrilled at the idea that now he'd have no choice.

Alecto quivered with excitement. Antonin was going to have to snog her.

Again.

He hadn't since that fateful night at Hogwarts almost fifteen years ago when he'd sweet-talked her out of her knickers after having a bit too much to drink. She'd fallen in love with him that night, and fifteen years apart, his prison sentence, and his obvious regret when he'd woken next to her the morning after had done nothing to cool the fire he stirred in her blood and the race in her heart at the very sight of him.

"For fuck's sake!" Antonin growled.

Alecto knew, logically, she ought to be offended by his obvious outrage over the situation he'd ended up in, but the truth was, she was used to his rebuffs by now. One day he would realise that no other witch loved him like she did. One day he would realise that she was worth much more to him that an annoyance to be brushed off at every turn.

"You planned this, didn't you, Alecto?" he asked, his Russian accent lilting her voice in a way that made her knickers damp.

"Narcissa is the one who charmed the mistletoe, Antonin," Alecto offered.

"You've been following me like a niffler after silver since I arrived," he accused, opening his dark eyes to glare at her.

"Can I help it that your presence and your company is so enchanting, Antonin?" Alecto smiled coyly at him, brushing her long dark hair from her pixie-like face.

She was rubbish at flirting, she knew, but that had never stopped her where Antonin was concerned. Not when the man could have her screaming his name with a clever twist of his fingers.

"You know I loathe that you pursue me, don't you?" he clarified, always ready with a barb and a rebuff. He'd long since ceased with bothering to let her down easy or be nice about it.

"You know I'm in love you, don't you?" Alecto asked in reply, uttering the words that had been sitting on the tip of her tongue for fifteen years.

He blinked in shock at her words.

She'd never actually told him that part. She was in love with him, but she'd always been too afraid of how he would twist her words and shatter her heart by refusing to say it back.

"Why?" he shook his head, his brow furrowing.

Alecto shrugged. There were a million reasons she loved him. His accent. His looks. His cunning. His alluring eyes. His cold heart. But none of them would adequately explain the torch she'd been carrying for him for fifteen years.

"If I knew, I can assure you, I'd stop," she admitted. "I don't actually enjoy being told I'll never be what you want, or constantly being rejected. I'm not  _that_  twisted yet."

Antonin frowned at her self-deprecating words and her honesty. He was unused to it, she supposed. Usually she tended to make a fool of herself and blurt out terrible pick-up lines her brother joked with to the number of witches he screwed. Usually she tripped over her tongue in Antonin presence.

Alecto watched him glance up at the mistletoe that had sprouted overhead in the little used drawing room. The Yule party Narcissa was hosting on behalf of the Dark Lord was carrying on in the main ballroom and other parts of the house, but Alecto had snuck away to pursue Antonin when he'd ducked off to one of the little-used upstairs lavatories. They were alone, Alecto knew. Antonin glanced back at her before looking over his shoulder in the direction of the nearest doorway.

She wondered if he was hoping someone would happen along who could rescue him or if he was simply concerned that someone would see them and know they'd had to snog to get free of the charmed plant. She didn't voice her thoughts though. Instead, she waited and she watched him, waiting for him to come to her this time. She knew that if she pounced on him and snogged him right then, he would simply do what he had to in order to break the enchantment of the mistletoe and be on his way, no doubt leaving her wanting and burning for more.

When he looked back at her, his dark eyes were full of pity and determination. Alecto quivered with anticipation when he brought both hands up and cupped her jaw. He held her gaze as he leaned in, watching her watch him until the last possible second before he closed his eyes and claimed her lips. Alecto's heart galloped inside her chest, hippogriffs taking flight inside her stomach at the feel of his chapped, whiskey-flavoured lips claiming hers. He brushed his lips over hers once; twice; thrice before his tongue darted out to trace the seam of her lips and Alecto melted into the touch, opening for him immediately.

She would swear he chuckled when she whimpered with delight as his tongue swept against the length of hers. She savoured every second when she felt the mistletoe overhead scatter, the magic spent and the plant dropping berries and flowers upon them to signal their freedom. She was sure that any second now, he would release her and be on his way as though he weren't changing her world with a few strokes of his tongue.

She wasn't at all expecting it when he walked her backwards until her back hit a wall before he leaned into her, snogging her hotly. His hands left her face when she tangled her own into his wavy dark hair and Alecto was a little ashamed of the whining mewl he drew from her when he hiked the skirts of her dress up around her breasts, one of his hands smoothing down to cup her cunt through her knickers. Arching into him, she hoped against hope that he intended to have his way with her. Merlin, she'd waited forever for him to have his way with her once more.

Snogging him hungrily, Alecto curled one leg up around his hip, grinding herself against his hand and the bulge in the front of his trousers. His free hand unbuckled his belt and Alecto was sure that tears of happiness leaked from beneath her closed eyelids. When he yanked her knickers to one side and drove two fingers into her dripping quim, Alecto tore her lips from his with a cry.

"Oh, gods, Antonin!" she breathed.

He finger-fucked her hard, as brutal at sex as he was with everything else and Alecto loved every minute of it. She arched into the touch, her body coiling and ready to spring free from the pleasure alone of knowing that he was finally,  _finally_ , touching her again. He muffled her scream with his lips when she came hard, her pussy squirting and squelching a little under his rough treatment but Alecto was too lost to care.

When he freed himself from his trousers and drove his cock deep inside her, Alecto sobbed with joy. When he withdrew slowly before ramming into her again, she screamed against his lips and he swallowed the sound. When he took her like a man possessed, Alecto came again, gushing and sobbing in his arms, her spine grating against the cold wall of the Manor and her whole body alight with a pleasure like she'd never known.

And when he was done, he pulled away from her, letting her weak-kneed body slide down the wall to sit at his feet while he caught his breath. He left her sitting there, his come trickling against her thighs, her face stinging from stubble rash, her make-up ruined thanks to her tears of happiness. Antonin Dolohov walked away without looking back, muttering only;

"Happy Christmas, you poor bitch."


	3. Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitches

**12 Days of Death Eaters**

_By Kittenshift17_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Ho, Ho, Ho, Bitches**

* * *

_Rabastan Lestrange_

* * *

"Ho, ho, fucking ho, bitches!" Rabastan Lestrange greeted his brother and two of his closest associates, Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle. He tipped his whiskey flask in their direction as he sauntered across the sticky floor of the filthy Knockturn Alley pub on Christmas Eve. "I found me a Little Helper."

He had a witch tucked under his arm, though he didn't recall her name, and he was planning on fucking her just as soon as he'd rubbed their noses in the fact that, this Christmas, he'd be getting laid.

"Blow me, Bass," Thorfinn Rowle laughed at him for his drunkenness and his greeting. "You brought me a present?"

He nodded his golden maned head towards the drunk witch under Rabastan's arm, his eyes scanning over the little witch hungrily as though he were thinking about trying to steal her away from Rabastan.

"You can have her when I'm done, Fuck-face," Rabastan smirked, not one to care about sharing just as long as he got to go first. He wasn't interested in wetting his dick with some other bastard's spunk.

Thorfinn laughed at him.

"Yeah, that'll be nice, basted in your fucking come, she'll be such a treat," Thorfinn scoffed, obviously having the same qualm. Rabastan laughed at his words, amused by the idea that the big git obviously didn't fancy sharing any more than Rabastan did.

"Screw you, arsehole," the witch piped up in offence over their comment, taking issue with Thorfinn's suggestion that she'd be drenched in come, and likely at Rabastan's offer of letting someone else have her when she was done. Obviously the little bitch didn't want to know she meant nothing to him beyond being a tight warm hole to fuck for the night.

"Shut your mouth, bitch, or I'll stuff my cock in it before I even take you out of here," Rabastan threatened her, gripping a fistful of her blonde hair tight enough to make her whimper. "And while I do, all these other cunts will happily baste you in their spunk, too. Is that what you want?"

She shook her head from side to side, her eyes going wide with fear over his rough treatment and mercurial moods.

"No?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "You sure about that?"

Putting his flask back into his pocket, Rabastan slid his hand under the skirt up her dress – and honestly, what sort of witch wore a fucking dress on Christmas Eve when it was bloody freezing outside, except the kind looking to have her every hole plugged full of cock? When he encountered the junction of her thighs – and Circe's cunt, the witch had legs that went on for days – it was hot and dripping, and bare of undergarments.

Rabastan began to laugh.

"Funny, feels like you fuckin' love that idea, witch," Rabastan sneered at her, still laughing and watching the way her eyes went wide before she shuddered when he drove two fingers into her tight cunt.

He rather enjoyed working her with them, right there in the middle of the pub with all the other fuckers looking on hungrily. It was like a revel all over again, only so much more public and without all the bloody sobbing and screaming. He hated the sobbing. The witch leaned towards him, one of his fists still in her hair, the other up her dress as he worked her over. She leaned into him and she stretched up to snog him hotly, making Rabastan smirk all the more.

The other cunts could eat their fucking hearts out, he thought.

Actually, that wasn't a bad idea. Pulling his hand from the witch's hair when she tangled hers into his own shaggy locks, Rabastan clicked his fingers in his brother's direction – Rodolphus being the bloke sitting the closest to where he stood with the witch. Groping blindly for his brother's shoulder to get his attention, Rabastan felt the git turn towards him before Rabastan lifted the witch's dress to show she was bare arsed under it. She whined into his mouth, suckling his tongue in a way that he just knew meant she would be a fuckin' angel at sucking the come right out of his dick.

Rabastan swallowed the sound she made, smirking against her mouth even as he felt Rod's hands on her hips, pulling the witch around toward him. She squealed in surprise when she felt the hot slide of Rod's tongue in her cunt – brushing Bass's fingers inside her before swiping up and back. From the way she squirmed, Rabastan just knew the bastard had his tongue in her arsehole. She pulsed around Rabastan's fingers in response and the lads were all cheering now.

Vaguely Rabastan was thinking that he shouldn't be dishonouring the bitch – a Greengrass witch, if his drunken thoughts were to be trusted – in the middle of a bloody pub. Not that anyone in The Devil's Bed was going to fucking whine. The thought was fleeting however, when the tight little witch squealed into his mouth again, dancing in place. Blinking his eyes open, Rabastan smirked over her head. Rod was tongue deep in her arse, his hands forcing her to bend forward, pulling her further around in front of him.

Rabastan laughed as he continued to finger fuck the little hoe until he couldn't reach her cunt anymore. His fingers were sticky with her juices when he pulled his hand away and Bass offered them to Thorfinn, who licked them clean with a laugh while Bass turned his attention to undoing his belt and freeing his cock from his trousers. Rodolphus bent the little witch over even more, using his foot to pull a bar stool around to help her balance, forcing her to arch her back and thrust her cunt and her arse fully into his face whilst bringing her mouth down in reach of Rabastan's cock.

She was moaning and squealing right up until Rabastan thrust his cock into her hot mouth and groaned softly. And then the bitch was sucking him hard, hollowing her cheeks and writhing against Rod's tongue.

"Isn't she betrothed to Draco?" Antonin asked Thorfinn while the bastard kept right on licking Bass's fingers and palm clean of the witch's essence.

"Probably," Thorfinn roared with laughter as he released Bass's hand when it was clean of her taste. "Don't imagine she'll live long enough to shame the poor sod when Bella gets word of this, though."

Rabastan laughed at his words even as Rod lapped at her cunt, using his fingers and his tongue in both tight holes to bring the witch off. She screamed when she came with a shudder and Rabastan laughed even louder when doing so allowed his cock to glide all the way down her throat until her nose bumped his abs. He was expecting the little witch to gag and choke on him – knowing he was by no means small. When she didn't, everyone in the pub cheered while Bass tangled his hands into her loose hair, holding her head still and fucking her face.

"Say it with me, lads," he roared, laughing as they all cheered. "Hoe, Hoe, fucking Hoe!"


	4. Wanna Build a Snowman?

**Chapter 4: Wanna Build a Snowman?**

* * *

_Draco Malfoy_

* * *

"If you throw that snowball, we're at war," Theodore Nott informed him coolly, eyeing the snowball Draco had just created with clear warning in his eyes.

"We're already at war, you tosspot," Draco informed him before hurling the snowball at his best friend's face.

Theo hissed at the wet smack of the snow connecting with his cheek before flicking his wand. Before Draco's eyes, large snowmen formed, each of them rushing Draco and hurling parts of themselves at him.

"Ah, shit!" Draco shouted, being pelted with snow even as he waved his wand to create snow soldiers of his own.

Directing the snowmen to pelt his friend, a full on battle ensue, Draco and Theo the generals of their respective army of snowmen. Draco laughed as one of his smaller, guerrilla snow-monsters crept past Theo's defensive line and encased Theo in snow. Theo gave a shout of displeasure, bursting free of the monster and glaring his hatred at Draco across the battlefield they'd created on the rolling ground of Malfoy Manor that Christmas Day.

"Blast is all, Draco! I'm going to get you for this!" Theo shouted across the field, his snowmen growing into enormous snow giants that began using Draco's snowmen like footballs, punting them with explosions of snow that showered down upon Draco until he was soaked.

"Oi!" Draco shouted back, flicking his wand and creating even more snow monsters and sending them after Theo's monsters once more.

Gigantic now, they lumbered and stumbled about the yard while Draco chortled with more amusement than he'd felt all bloody year. Theo was laughing too, shaking his head and flicking his wand to make even more snowmen. Draco, meanwhile, decided to up the ante and flicked his wand at the lake, frozen over as it was. He smirked wickedly when, from beneath the solid surface, a great ice-sculpture took shape like an enormous, diaphanous dragon.

When Draco flicked his wand again, the great icy beast opened its jaws with a terrible crack of fracturing ice before breathing ice and sleet all over Theo's entire snowy army and Theo himself.

"Argh!" Theo shouted in a rage, diving free of the dragon's range before rolling to his feet once more and racing across the battlefield towards Draco, a beast of his own – this one a manticore – rising from the depths of the lake to do battle against Draco's dragon.

Lucius Malfoy and Thoros Nott chose the very moment that Theodore tackled Draco into the snow, pummelling him and laughing as they rolled and tumbled, to investigate the uproar. Generals of their armies, the snowmen of both young wizards fell to their aid, attempting to pry one from the other and turning on one another in their drive to help their fallen leaders.

"What, might I ask, is going on here?" Thoros Nott asked, and anyone who didn't know him would've had trouble discerning the faintest hint of amusement colouring his tone.

"Bloody hell, here we go," Theo muttered to Draco, freezing when he realised that were no longer alone.

"Are they… battling?" Lucius drawled and Draco cringed at his father's curiosity.

"It's Draco's fault," Theo immediately threw Draco under the bus, "I warned him not to throw a snowball at me or there'd be war."

"War, indeed," Thoros said, his lips twitching beneath his moustache.

Draco looked at Theo as they both got to their feet, fully expecting the reprimand they'd learned would follow such ungentlemanly and unrestrained behaviour. Theo looked uncomfortable as he attempted to dust the powered snow from his robes, shifting from foot to foot and shooting Draco an apprehensive look in return. Draco knew the feeling his best friend was suffering. They'd believed themselves alone at the Manor for the afternoon; the Dark Lord having summoned his followers who were of age and sent them running after some sort of Order safe-house where Potter was suspected of hiding.

"You know," Lucius drawled, watching the raging beasts of ice continue to charge at one another, colliding with terrible booms and cracks like thunder, "I do believe there is a muggle tune… how does it go, Draco? The one about the snowman?"

"Frosty the Snowman?" Draco asked, his brow furrowing.

"That's the one. A snowman comes to life and terrorises a town, I believe?"

"Erm… I think so, Father," Draco muttered, looking at Theo again whose eyes were wide as though he sensed a trap.

"It would be most… amusing, don't you think, if their catchy little tune were to become a less jolly reality, this Christmas?" Lucius mused, smirking at Thoros before shooting a wink at Draco.

Draco's stomach flipped in shock at the sight of the mischievous smirk on his father's lips. Something must've gone well today. Draco hadn't seen that sort of expression on his father's face since the end of fourth year. Not since the Dark Lord had taken over the Manor and constantly held court within its walls. Indeed, he didn't think he'd seen his father looking this interested in doing something silly and wicked in a very long time.

Thoros was also smirking now.

"It would be rather a good show, Father, if they were also set upon by gigantic icy sculptures," Draco drawled in reply, nodding his head towards the dragon he'd created with a little magic.

"It would, indeed," Lucius grinned. "Wiltshire, do you think?"

Thoros chuckled.

"Wiltshire will only scare the wits out of a handful of muggles at most," Thoros laughed, waving a dismissive hand. "London, on the other hand…"

"Has it snowed in London heavily enough to manage it?" Theo asked quietly, obviously hoping against hope that his father wasn't going to suddenly flip his mental switch again.

"Even if it hasn't," Thoros's boisterous laugh could be heard as he crossed the distance between himself and his son before slinging an arm around Theo – something Draco didn't ever remember happening before, "We can always make some."

Theo began to laugh wickedly.

Draco looked to Lucius, noting the way his father had rolled up his sleeve despite the snowy afternoon, his Dark Mark black and terrible against his pale flesh, matching that one Draco's own arm.

"Why don't we see if we can't interest your Uncles in a little snow-monster muggle scaring too?" Lucius asked, moving over to him and slinging his arm around Draco's shoulders affectionately, "Keep them out of your mother's hair a little longer while she oversees everything for the Yule feast this evening?"

Draco nodded his head.

"Are they here?" Draco asked quietly.

"Everyone is, among the Marked. The Dark Lord has some business to attend to this afternoon and won't be joining us, but I daresay I know a few chaps who might be interested in making a snowman this Christmas," Lucius smirked wickedly at him, ruffling his platinum hair affectionately.

When they all reached the house, Lucius led the way into the Drawing room where most of the marked Death Eaters of the Dark Lord's inner circle were gathered. Draco looked around them keenly, always prepared for their wickedness, no matter that he numbered among their company. No matter than many of them were related to him, or friends with his family.

"Alright, gentleman," Lucius smirked wickedly, drawing attention to the four of them in the doorway, his arm still slung around Draco. "Show of hands, who wants to build a snowman?"

"Have you lost your mind?" Aunt Bella demanded, raising one dark eyebrow.

"Don't be ridiculous, Bella," Lucius dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "I just want to have a little, old fashioned fun."

"Where are we headed?" Thorfinn Rowle piped up, smirking.

"London," Thoros announced, "The lads have a little trick or two they'd like to share with the muggles this yuletide season."

Smirks flitted around the room then. Muggle baiting, muggle hunting, muggle harassment; this was the language of a Death Eater when the Dark Lord was busy.

"Well," Antonin Dolohov spoke up, "Lead on, boys."

Draco smirked at Theo before he slung an arm around his father waist in return.

"I know just the place," Draco chuckled, pulling out his wand and flicking it at a nearby paperweight, turning it into a portkey.

Everyone gathered around it, putting a hand upon the device before Draco activated the spell. They landed in King James Park in the middle of London and Draco was the first aiming his wand at the clouds overhead, conjuring up a snowstorm like none London had ever seen. The snow fell fast and thick and all around them, it began to gather in fluffy flurries. Theo was laughing by the time he was creating enormous snow monsters and icy beasts. The others followed suit, the park filled with shouts of surprise over the snow and then terror over the sight of such large snowy behemoths.

When the first of the muggles began to scream while the snow monsters began to attack, Draco found himself laughing and smiling along with the rest. After all, t'was the season for cheer.


	5. Christmas Cheer

**Chapter 5: Christmas Cheer**

* * *

_Antonin Dolohov_

* * *

"Who keeps leaving all this bloody mistletoe everywhere?" Antonin Dolohov snarled when he found himself caught beneath the stupid fucking plant for the second time that holiday season.

Thorfinn was already laughing at him. Antonin had made the mistake of admitting, drunkenly, that he'd been caught under it with Alecto at Narcissa's Yule gathering and that he'd pity fucked the poor bitch into the wall.

"You're getting all the luck this year, Toshka," Thorfinn continued to laugh, using the hated nickname for Antonin that so made him want to murder the bastard. Hell, he'd have done it by now if not for the fact that, arse though he was, he was one of the few bastards still drawing breath who could make Antonin laugh.

"Antonin!" Alecto practically squealed from across the room, having entered the room of Malfoy Manor at that very moment and spotted him trapped beneath the infernal plant.

"Shit, not again," he muttered, before lunging as far as he could whilst held under the magic of the mistletoe.

Thorfinn Rowle made a noise of shock and protest in the back of his throat when Antonin managed to latch on him, dragging the big bastard close enough to trap him under the mistletoe. Antonin didn't even think about it before fisting handfuls of the Viking wizard's long blonde hair, pulling the git down to his level and snogging him right on the mouth.

"Oi!" Thorfinn spluttered, shoving at his shoulders and forcing him back as soon as he was free when the magic was spent.

"Don't fucking start," Antonin growled at him, aiming his wand at the git when Thorfinn drew on him in obvious rage over being snogged by another bloke.

Antonin might've rolled his eyes over the notion, given that just a few nights ago Thorfinn has sucked Bass's fingers clean of some slut's pussy nectar, but taking his eyes off the arsehole would get him hexed.

"Oh! You didn't have to do that, Antonin" Alecto protested, still hurrying over to him, "I'd have rescued you. I do so know how mistletoe excites you."

She clutched a hold of his arm, pulling at him and Thorfinn's anger evaporated when Alecto proceeded to try to snog him despite the mistletoe having vanished once more.

"Get the fuck off me, woman," Antonin growled, bringing his wand up and digging it into her neck to keep her at bay.

She looked at him with wide wounded eyes, the green of them sparkling with what looked suspiciously like tears. He never should've fucked her. She'd caught him by surprise the other night, with her admission of love and how she wished she didn't fancy him. That, and he'd drawn her name in the Dark Lord's fucking Secret Santa bollocks and didn't want to even think about the way she'd react to any gift he could've bought her. Fucking her, a rocked-her-world pity fuck though it had been, had seemed an elegant answer to avoid seeing the bitch wearing anything he might buy her for the rest of their days.

Now, however, he was thinking he'd have preferred to see the bitch running around in an ugly necklace or bracelet. It'd be a sight better than having her think he was ever going to fuck her again. Which he wouldn't do. Not even under pain of death. The Dark Lord could Crucio him stupid of hex him dead before he'd fuck Alecto Carrow ever again.

"But I…" Alecto protested, her eyes filling and Antonin curled her lip while her fellow Death Eaters and even her twin, laughed at her expense.

She was a fucking joke and when he wasn't loathing her and plotting how best to murder her without being caught – and therefore without being punished by the Dark lord for murdering one of his toys – Antonin tended to pity the poor bitch. She was so hopelessly obsessed with him and so prone to making and arse of herself in her attempts to gain his attention or affection that it was downright laughable and sad.

Antonin shoved his wand point into her neck a little harder, thinking of all the hexes and curses he could deliver that would end her annoyance, and therefore his sufferance, with just an uttered spell. Instead he simply drove her back, forcing her away from him and turning his attention away, rejecting her once again.

"If you ever snog me again, fuckface," Thorfinn informed him, "I'll maim you."

"You were the one sticking his tongue in," Antonin retorted coolly, "Now shut the fuck up. We have our orders and you're distracting me."

"I'm told a snog from me can be very distracting, yeah," Thorfinn laughed.

"Fuck off, Thorfinn," Antonin snarled at his friend and fellow Death Eater.

"What the fuck do we have to do again?" Thorfinn muttered as they left the hall and headed towards the nearest fireplace to Floo to Hogsmeade.

"Create enough of a disturbance at the last Hogsmeade weekend for the year to snatch Potter away for the Dark Lord. Or kidnap any of his little friends that can be used as leverage," Antonin reminded the big git, frustrated with him.

"Tell me something, Toshka?" Thorfinn drawled when they both climbed through the Floo at the Hog's Head pub and dusted themselves off, "Why do you fight so hard against the witch? She obviously wants you, even though you're a twisted fuck, and it's not like you're getting any younger."

"You calling me old, kid?" Antonin slanted a glance at the man almost twenty years his junior.

"Wouldn't dream of it, you bloody old fart," Thorfinn smirked at him.

"Blow me, mate," Antonin retorted, "As for Alecto... she's a bloody joke. What do you want from me? To see me marrying the crazy bitch? She'd kill me in my sleep for looking sideways at another witch, if I married her, and you know it."

Thorfinn chuckled, knowing it was true.

"Why'd you fuck her, then?" Thorfinn asked.

"Pity sex is as good a gift as she'll be getting from me as her Secret Santa," Antonin shrugged.

"Pity sex and a fuckin' kid, if you weren't careful, Toshka," Thorfinn warned, "That one's crazy enough to have done some kind of containment spell to keep your spunk inside her long enough for her to take fertility potions and cast all the charms."

Antonin stopped dead in the street, his heart suddenly pounding. He hadn't thought of that. Fuck! His eyes going wide, he glanced up at the Viking of a wizard beside him and Thorfinn smirked at him for a moment before realising just what he'd said. His own father dead, Thorfinn was a legacy among Death Eaters and when Antonin had been liberated from Azkaban, he'd taken a shine to the bastard even if he was a pain in the arse. And a snog under the mistletoe to save himself from Carrow's clutches aside, Antonin tended to think of the bastard as the son he'd never wanted, if he was being honest. The idea of that crazy bitch bringing a real son of his bloodline into the world, however, made his blood run cold.

"Fuck!" Thorfinn cursed, obviously realising what he'd just said and horrified by the notion.

Antonin could only nod numbly in agreement, thinking that when he got back to fucking Headquarters at Malfoy Manor, he was going to have to give the bitch another Christmas surprise. A fucking Killing Curse to the heart.


	6. Untraditional Gifts

**Chapter 6: Untraditional Gifts**

* * *

_Bellatrix Lestrange_

* * *

" _What_ do you think you're doing?" Rodolphus Lestrange demanded when he awoke the bedroom in Malfoy Manor that they'd been sharing since their liberation from Azkaban Prison.

Bella smiled at her husband, a man she so rarely displayed any real affection or attraction for, knowing he was confused but finding his confusion all the more adorable. He was like a puppy in that way, sometimes, and while Bellatrix Lestrange would never be seen displaying affection for anything as lowly and slobbery as a canine, she was willing to make yuletide exception for her husband.

"Good morning, husband," Bellatrix smiled at the man she'd been married to for almost twenty years now.

She imagined he was rather surprised to have woken upon Christmas morning, not to empty sheets and an abandoned bedroom. Instead he'd woken to the sight of his once-beautiful wife wearing nothing but a very large red bow, seated under the Christmas tree she'd had the elves bring into the room during the night while Rodolphus slept.

"Bella?" he asked. Concern coloured his tone over the notion of her smiling at him so fondly.

"Happy Christmas, Rodolphus," Bellatrix whispered. She was allowing the side no one but this man had ever encountered before, to slip free of the tight box she usually kept it in.

His brow furrowed further, his sleep-addled mind trying to make sense of a Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black who wasn't hissing her displeasure at him or trying to hex him for whatever new fury he'd inspired her. And Merlin knew, the man could inspire her fury like no one else. It was what had so drawn her to him in the first place. Twisted. Sadistic. Cruel. He had been that way long before she'd set her sights on him. Circe, he'd been handsome back then too, with a wicked grin and a cold, rapier wit that could make even her acid tongue seem sugar-coated.

Now… well. Bella allowed her lips to curl up slightly with genuine affection for the wretched bastard. Now his once blonde hair was shot through with grey. Now, the corners of his eyes bore etchings of the hard years they'd spent in Azkaban. The strapping build she'd been drawn too still bore signs of the starvation they'd barely survived, his muscles sinewy and wiry now rather than bulky and hulking. Now he bore the look of a man who'd known hard times; who'd suffered for something bigger than himself. And while she so very rarely admitted it - even to herself - Bella loved the sod for it.

He blinked his Lestrange-green eyes at her sleepily, his expression of mild confusion and concern giving way to a relaxed and amused expression that he so rarely wore these days. She recalled it from their youth. It had once been a look she'd been able to put on his face just by nibbling his wrist or his fingers.

"And just what are you supposed to be, dear Bella?" he inquired. Reclining back against the pillows and eyeing her with lustful heat, he still looked the picture of easy grace and unadulterated hunger.

"Your Christmas gift." Bella smiled. "Surprise!"

He smirked at her for a moment.

"Don't you know that you're supposed to wrap Christmas gifts, love?" he asked. He sat up slowly before slinging his legs out of bed and putting his feet on the cold floor of the Manor. "It's all the more exciting to open, see? Half the fun is in peeling back the wrapping a little at a time."

"I think you'll rather find I've properly packaged your gift today, husband," Bella replied. Butterflies flapped inside her stomach that ought not still be there after almost twenty years and a lifetime with him.

She watched him stalk slowly closer, crossing the floor to where she was seated under the tree.

"You think so?" Rodolphus purred to her, reaching one hand out to cup her cheek fondly for a moment.

"Peel back the wrapping and find out," Bella challenged after a brief moment of leaning into his warm touch.

His smirk was wicked as he reach for the enormous bow she'd spent a good deal of time charming so that it covered her all of her assets. The heavy fabric pulled slowly from of its merry bow and Rodolphus traced his thumbs across her bare collarbones.

"Tell me something, dear wife," Rodolphus murmured. He slowly peeled the heavy satin from her body, bearing an inch of flesh at a time, savouring the anticipation that was building low in Bella's abdomen.

"Anything," Bella promised.

"Whatever am I going to give you that could be of equal value as this most precious gift you've given me?" His eyes were full of hunger and wonder – even after all this time and the ravages of the hard life they had lived – as they traced over her slowly bared breasts.

Bella smiled at him softly, pulling his face down to hers and capturing his lips. She snogged him thoroughly as he slipped his hands under the satin and pried it from her body until he could smooth his fingers up the length of her bare thighs before moving one hand to cup her naked apex. When she pulled back from his lips, it was with an exquisite gasp at the feel of two strong fingers tunnelling into her throbbing channel.

Her voice was husky and her eyes were half-lidded with desire, her body beginning to sing with the pleasure he always knew how to inspire. When she answered him, she was quivering on the edge of release, his clever fingers bringing her swiftly toward climax.

"For Christmas this year," she began while her back arched, "I want the little whore you and Bass fucked last night."

Rodolphus never broke his rhythm, not even at her words and Bella was still holding his gaze when the waves of orgasmic release crested and crashed over her. His smirk was hot and wicked, his eyes dancing with amusement over her request, over her anger. She could see his desire growing at the very idea of watching her do the wretched things she had planned for the Greengrass girl he and his brother had shared. Bella hated and loved him in equal measure to know that he so enjoyed her jealousy and her wickedness.

"Anything for you, dear Bella."


	7. Frosting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: Orias Mulciber is the brain-child of Freya Ishtar. If you wish to read more about him, I INSIST that you check out her stories "She Wolves", and "Yes, Professor" both featuring Orias is all his delicious glory. Seriously. Read them and leave her gushing review about his awesome like I did.
> 
> Much love! xx-Kitten.

**Chapter 7: Frosting**

* * *

_Orias Mulciber_

* * *

"You know, this Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you," Orias Mulciber informed the witch currently smearing biscuits with what little frosting she could scrape from the bowl he'd all but licked clean.

Orias watched her head snap up in surprise, her eyes going wide in shock at the sight of him.

"Who are you?" she hissed. She dropped her frosting knife and the biscuit she'd been attempting to ice as she reached for her wand.

"Is that important?" Orias asked. He snatched the falling biscuit from the air and wolfed it down hungrily. His weakness for holiday sweets was truly a curse.

He'd eaten most of the biscuits this little witch had put on to bake while she'd ducked upstairs to grab a shower, dipping them in the icing she'd prepared before she'd dashed off to bathe. She blinked stupidly at his nonchalant question, on her guard and wary but obviously confused.

"Of course it's important. Who are you and how did you get into my house?" she demanded.

"I'd be more concerned about what I'm doing here and whether you're really going to need all that frosting," Orias said, shrugging.

She looked even more baffled. He snorted in amusement before reaching for one of the biscuits she'd finished frosting and bringing it to his mouth to gobble it down. Honestly, he needed to get a handle on this. He had a job to do. Secure Potter's Mudblood, the Dark Lord had ordered. Bring her in for questioning ruffled but otherwise unharmed. That was his mission. And he'd broken into her little flat intent on doing just that.

But that was before he'd smelled the scent of baking Christmas goodies. That was before the inner child in him had come out and gobbled down as many biscuits as he could get his hands on – uncaring if the dough was cooked yet or not. That was before he'd tasted the delectable sweets she'd baked and he'd begun to think that the Dark Lord could bugger off; he wanted to keep this witch all to himself. A personal slave to bake him nothing but holiday sweets until he died from the sugar overload.

The fact that she was sexy as hell in her little pink apron over tiny blue bed-shorts and a white tank-top certainly helped, too.

"What are you doing here then?" the witch asked. "And what do you mean about not needing all the frosting? Are those...? You've got biscuit crumbs in your beard. And is that…? Why do you have coconut stuck to your lips? Have you been into my pantry?"

She looked positively outraged over the very idea. Orias tried to look as innocent as a man his size and build could look whilst in a stranger's house having eaten most of her baked goods.

"I hardly see how that's relevant," he answered.

" _Who_  are you?" The witch stomped her foot, her wand still trained on him even as she moved to open the pantry door.

Orias stopped her before she could. She was only going to be upset when she saw that most of her baking was missing. She might've had a short shower, but he had a problem, curse it all! He was never to be trusted when there were holiday sweets sitting unguarded.

"Name's Mulciber," he informed her. "I'm your Christmas gift from the Dark Lord."

She'd likely have hexed him, Orias reckoned, if not for the fact that he grabbed her to prevent her from opening the cupboard. She tensed when he wrapped both strong arms around her, pinning her in place and dodging the attack when she tried to stomp on his foot.

"Voldemort sent you?" she growled. She was struggling furiously in his tight hold, and Orias might've been impressed at her ability to do so - given his strength - if he hadn't suddenly noticed that the little curly-haired woman smelled of caramel and cinnamon.

Circe's cunt! She smelled like holiday treats and she baked like the goddess of sweets. Orias's mouth watered and before he could think better of it, he found himself ducking his head and nibbling the join where her neck met her shoulder. Her gasp and quiver of what he hoped was delight did nothing to deter him from his treat.

"I was right," he said, groaning. "That frosting is going to taste a hundred times better on you."

Reaching for the bowl with the witch still in his arms, still tensed but no longer struggling, Orias dipped his fingers into the bowl before dragging them – now covered in frosting – across the side of her neck. She moaned, oh so sweetly, in the back of her throat when he leaned in and licked it right back off. Salazar's serpent, it was better than anything else he'd ever tasted!

"Mulciber!" she whined softly.

Orias liked the sound of his name on her lips.

"Orias," he corrected. He wanted to hear her use his first name, too.

"Orias," she repeated. "You need to get off me."

"Can't do that," Orias disagreed. He smeared more frosting onto her skin - this times across her clavicle –before licking it off again.

"You have to," she said. "Why did Voldemort send you here? Would you stop doing that?"

He picked up a biscuit – still warm from being baked – and offered it to her. She shook her head before realising the futility of refusing when he continued to hold it to her lips, waiting for her to take a bite.

"Good girl," he praised when she nibbled the biscuit before he claimed the rest for himself. She quivered at the praise.

"Answer my question," she demanded. "And get off me. I have no idea who you are, or just what game Voldemort is playing to send someone here to eat all my baked goods, but I assure you, it's not funny."

"You're Hermione Granger, right?" Orias confirmed after gobbling down the biscuit and collecting more frosting on his fingers. This time he held them to her mouth, tracing her lips with the sugary goo until she grew frustrated enough or hungry enough to lick his digits clean of the sweet-tasting stuff.

"You don't even know your target on sight?" she asked. "Merlin, are all Death Eaters this thick."

"If you keep squirming like that, little witch, I'll show you  _thick_ ," he threatened. He ground his hardening cock against her arse in those tiny shorts for emphasis.

"There are cheesy lines, too? What? Did Voldemort find you inside a Christmas cracker or something, you big brute?"

Orias found himself laughing at her obvious annoyance with him for the way he was manhandling her like some conquering barbarian.

"Who cares?" he asked as he trailed more frosting over her flesh, this time tracing it towards the dipping cleavage revealed by her tank top. She arched – involuntarily, it seemed – to give him better access to lick the frosting off once more.

"Shouldn't you? I imagine you weren't actually sent here to lick parts of me and eat me out of holiday sweets, Mulciber," Hermione Granger replied.

"Sent here to ruffle your feather and bring you to the Dark Lord," Orias muttered. He couldn't think straight with such a delicious smelling witch in his hold and under his tongue. He wanted to taste her. All of her.

"Is this your idea of feather-ruffling?" she wanted to know.

"Witch, if you think I'm taking anyone who tastes this good  _anywhere_  near the Dark Lord, you're not as bright as you're rumoured to be."

She shuddered in his hold when he gobbled up another cookie before tracing patterns across the top of her shoulder with his tongue.

"Aren't you a Death Eater?" she asked. "Don't you have to do everything your master orders?"

"Not this time," Orias muttered. "This time I'm breaking the rules. Hell, if I can taste every inch of you, I'll bloody defect from the Dark Lord and never look back."

Orias felt like a man possessed as he continued to lick at her flesh. Indeed, he was so caught up in trying to taste every inch of her he could reach, that he didn't notice the sound of two other wizards coming down the stairs. At least, he didn't until he caught a pair of Stunning spells in the back and slumped to the ground, pulling his new favourite holiday treat right down with him.


	8. Christmas Gifts

**Chapter 8:Christmas Gifts**

* * *

_Lucius Malfoy_

* * *

"No, no, no! You get away from those presents!" Narcissa scolded him.

Lucius looked over to find his wife dashing into the room, her expression wrathful to find him poking about under the Christmas tree she'd had set up just for this purpose. The Dark Lord's instigation of a circle-wide Secret Santa – while ridiculously amusing – had done nothing to assuage Lucius's child-like obsession with the need to open every present under the tree. Even the ones not for him. He'd always been that way.

A man whose life was so steeped in secrets ought to know better, he supposed, but Lucius had always loathed not knowing what was in each gift. Maybe it was suspicion over just what might be in them and how it could be used against him. Maybe it was fear over whether or not he'd be physically or psychologically prepared for what he might find within each one. After all, it was hardly a dull affair to ask Death Eaters who loathed one another to exchange yuletide gifts.

Lucius himself had been asked to shop for Orias Mulciber, a more brutish man he was certain he'd never meet. And that was rather saying something, given that he'd met Mulciber's younger, slightly sharper doppleganger – Thorfinn Rowle. Mulciber was a menace who had, on more than one occasion, made passes at Narcissa.

"I wasn't doing anything," Lucius lied. Narcissa glared at him, knowing full-well that he'd been fingering each present and trying to determine what might be inside it. Indeed, he was clutching his wand in his free hand and had been about to use it to remove the paper concealing each gift before re-wrapping them magically just so that the suspense wouldn't kill him.

"One day, you're going to snoop you nose into things you shouldn't Lucius Malfoy, and I'll find myself a widow," Narcissa said. She looked extremely displeased by the thought.

"You think you could be free of me so easily, my love?" Lucius asked. He raised one eyebrow and shot a smirk at his wife – a smirk their son had so mastered emulating.

"I certainly hope not," she said. "But given the way our luck has been looking recently, I wouldn't at all be surprised if you snooped into one of those and encountered something unpleasant."

"Unpleasant will be this wretched ball you're throwing for the Dark Lord," Lucius corrected her. He set down the gift he'd been snooping through and tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robes.

"You believe a ball I throw could ever be unpleasant?" Narcissa asked. Lucius smirked at the way her lips pinched with offense over the very notion.

"I believe that no matter your skill at hosting grand balls for every occasion, nothing could brighten an affair where every Death Eater within the Inner Circle is forced to exchange yuletide gifts with their least favourite colleague," Lucius corrected.

Narcissa didn't look entirely appeased. Lucius swept closer to her until he could take the beautiful witch into his arms, drawing her deeper into the room and flicking his wand toward the record player in the corner. A slow Christmassy tune began to play and he held his wife lightly before beginning to waltz her.

"You're trying to distract me," she accused.

"I would never," Lucius said. His smirk gave him away, but they both knew it was true. He liked distracting her. Especially at the holidays. Yule had always been her favourite time of the year. Grand Balls; parties; dancing and baking; ensuring everything went off without a hitch and that the elite would once again sing praises over her skill as a hostess had always made his wife happy.

This year, however, the ball she threw would be of a different nature. The praise would feel hollow at best, should it come from any but the Dark Lord. Moreover, should the Dark Lord grow displeased – a likely occurrence given that Mulciber still had not returned from his mission to collect Potter's Mudblood, and that Bella and Rodolphus had greatly upset Gerard Greengrass with their treatment of his eldest daughter – it was highly likely that the ball his sweet Narcissa threw this year would end in bloodshed, violence and death.

"What are we to do about Draco's betrothal?" Narcissa murmured. She laid her cheek against his chest, allowing him to waltz her around the room to the slow tune.

"Daphne is hardly suitable to wed him now," Lucius mused. "Not that she was shaping up to be the best of candidates as the future Lady Malfoy. It would seem Rabastan did us a favour with his wretched whore-mongering."

Narcissa sighed heavily. "Gerard and Druella will be extremely put out if we do not honour the agreement with him. Bella will, undoubtedly, remove Daphne from existence when she'd finished playing with her food. There is always the younger girl. Astoria."

"Ravenclaw, isn't she?" Lucius sniffed in disgust.

"She is," Narcisse said. "But she is very much like her mother; poised, gifted; she'd make a fine match for Draco. Better than Daphne would have done. She's also a brunette. That ought to please him."

"You know he favours another?" Lucius asked. Draco may think his interest in Potter's little Mudblood – Granger – went unnoticed but Lucius was no fool. The boy never ceased his complaints about the young witch and for all that he disparaged her, there was no doubt that she was often on Draco's mind.

"Our son lacks some of your subtlety yet, Lucius," Narcissa said. "But he knows he cannot ever have anything with her. She is a mudblood and she is on the wrong side in this war we are waging."

"Is she?" Lucius murmured. He looked toward the tree once more, knowing that more than one gift under the silly thing was likely a cursed object, a severed body-part or some other form of wretched and twisted 'gift'. After all, the 'gift' he'd bought Mulciber was hardly friendly.

"It's a little late for second thoughts, darling," Narcissa whispered. "Just hold me and wish me a Happy Christmas and pretend that our lives haven't been commandeered by a megalomaniac."

Lucius glanced at the woman in his arms as he waltzed her about the room. And just as he did every year, he found himself thinking that of all the gifts he could ever be given, his wife and their son would always be the best.


	9. All I Want for Christmas is You

**Chapter 9: All I Want for Christmas is You**

* * *

_Thorfinn Rowle_

* * *

"Princess, all I want for Christmas is you!" Thorfinn Rowle boomed out a laugh as he latched onto a nest of bushy curls that he knew just a little too well.

The witch flailed immediately in his hold and Thorfinn laughed, disapparating with a sharp crack just as she opened her mouth, emitting a terrible scream and alerting her friends to her abduction. She writhed in his grip, stomping hard on his foot, and Thorfinn cursed the little bitch for her aim.

"Oi, knock it off, yeah?" he grumbled. "It's just me."

" _Just_  you?" Hermione Granger snarled, spinning in his grip to glare up at him hatefully. "I swear, Rowle, the minute I'm free, you're dead. I am sick to death of being snuck up on and grabbed by Death Eaters these holidays. If you've been anywhere near my biscuits, I will literally maim you."

"Baby-girl, I haven't touched your biscuits," Thorfinn drawled. "But I  _have_  touched your everything else. Maybe you remember?"

She kicked him in the shins and bit him fiercely on the chest, screeching in her fury.

"You weren't this fiery in bed with me," he complained. "What's your problem? And what's that you were saying about being grabbed and biscuits?"

"Oh, as if you don't know?" Granger snapped, biting him again, harder this time. Thorfinn winced.

"Oi! Quit biting me, Princess, or I'm going to bite you back. And I'll start with your inner thigh," Thorfinn scolded, jerking her back far enough to be out of reach of her teeth.

"I'm going to kill you," she informed him, her cheeks cutting crimson at the reminder of the depraved things he'd done to her and Thorfinn smirked.

"If it's death by exhaustion from fucking you into a stupor, baby, I won't even mind," Thorfinn told the little mudblood.

"It'll be death by blunt force trauma when I bash your head in for being such a git!" she snarled in retort. "Get your hands off me this instant, you lumbering, ridiculous bloody Viking!"

"You're being kind of mean, there Princess," Thorfinn pretended to pout, refusing to release her. "I swear, if I'd known you were  _this_  feisty, I'd never have let you go."

"As though you had a say in it?" she demanded. "I dumped you, remember? Right around the time you showed up with an ugly new tattoo, exclaiming in shock over my blood status."

"Should've been upfront about yourself, then shouldn't you? And this wouldn't have happened."

She kicked him again, the spiteful little cow.

"You should've mentioned that you were planning to become a Death Eater  _before_  seducing me into bed in the first place," she argued hotly.

"Baby, I was a bit too busy plotting to get laid to give a shit about blood status back then."

"And look what it got you," she sneered.

"A dirty little mistake I want to make all over again?" he suggested, smirking at her.

She slapped him, but Thorfinn didn't really mind. She hexed harder than she could hit, and his beard absorbed most of the sting. He laughed, tangling one hand into her nest of curls and jerking her forward once more, claiming her lips for a furious snog. He got his tongue bitten for his trouble, but the sweet flavour of his favourite mudblood was well worth it.

"What do you want with me, Thorfinn?" she asked, her tone cold even if he could see how breathless she was when he pulled back.

"I think you know the answer to that, Princess," he teased, walking her backward across his bedroom in Rowle Tower until her legs hit the end of the bed.

She toppled backward onto it and Thorfinn followed her down, pinning her beneath him, right where she belonged.

"Get off," she demanded.

"I will, just as soon as we both wriggle out of these clothes, yeah?" he suggested.

"You always were premature enough that sometimes it was a waste to even bother undressing," she needled and Thorfinn lost his smirk.

"Careful, Princess," he warned. "I'm not above proving you wrong, now matter your willingness to participate."

"So now you're a rapist as well as an arsonist and a complete bloody arsehole?" she challenged.

"It's not rape if you beg me for it, Baby-girl," he said, insinuating himself between her thighs and rocking himself against her core.

"The only begging I'd do would be begging you to stop and to never speak to me or look at me again, Rowle," she snarled.

"Liar," Thorfinn teased when, despite her hatred, she arched just a little.

"Why have you kidnapped me, Thorfinn?" she asked, forcing herself to lie still while he tormented her. She was trying to resist, he knew. She'd always tried to resist, just a little. She kind of liked to pretend she had morals and values and that she didn't want his cock pumping into her as surely as he wanted to fuck her until he couldn't walk.

"How else was I meant to get you alone?" he asked.

"Voldemort sent you, didn't he?" she guessed. Thorfinn's lips twisted, and she looked anything but surprised.

"I wondered who he would send when his last gift failed," she sighed.

"Which gift?" Thorfinn frowned, still against her.

"Mulciber," she shrugged. "When we took him prisoner, I kind of expected someone else would be sent to… how did he put it? … ruffle my feathers before carting me off to the Dark Lord."

"You captured him?" Thorfinn asked.

"He invaded my parent's place and ate us out of holidays sweets before being distracted by the idea of finishing the last of the frosting by licking it off me. Harry and Ron were visiting, at the time, and they rather took issue with his licking me and having his hands on my arse."

"That bastard," Thorfin growled, his eyes flashing at the idea of his doppelganger laying a hand on his witch.

"Actually, now that I think about it, the two of you do look remarkably alike, aside from the fact that he's just a touch bigger and older. Are you related?" she asked and Thorfinn sighed, sick to death of that question.

"Pretty sure he's my half-brother," Thorfinn admitted, scowling. "He's got about nine years on me. 'Mulciber' was his mother's name and he claims he never knew his father."

"And the resemblance certainly is uncanny. Daddy had an affair, huh?" she asked, her eyes glittering with wicked amusement. "Do Reina and Bjarke know about him?"

Thorfinn shook his head. "No, and they're never going to. What've you done with him?"

"What haven't I done with him, Thorfinn?" she smirked, the wretched bitch driving a dagger into the weak chink in his armour.

"You fucked him?" he asked coldly, his temper sparking and roaring into a terrible inferno that pulsed inside his skull, just waiting to burst free.

"He certainly offered enough times that I could've done," she said evasively and Thorfinn barely caught the fact that she was trying to goad him by lying.

"You better not have, Princess," he said quietly, and she froze at the controlled tone in his voice that belied the anger he was about to unleash.

"And why the hell not?" she snapped.

Thorfinn leaned down, glaring into her eyes hatefully, one of his hands curling threateningly around her throat.

"Because you're mine, bitch," he growled. "And if I can't have you, no one can!"

She looked like she wanted to spit in his face that if he'd wanted her, he shouldn't have joined the fucking Dark Lord, and that if he thought he had any claim on her now, then he could go suck a hag's clit. She looked at him with eyes that gleamed of hatred and Thorfinn doubted there was anything he could do to fix the rift he'd torn between them when he'd followed in his father's footsteps and joined the Death Eater ranks.

After all, she was a mudblood and he was playing for the team that slaughtered her kind.

But he didn't want to slaughter her. He might often imagine choking the life out of the wretched little bitch, but she screamed too sweet and writhed under his cock too well for him to ever truly wish her ill. Leaning into her once more, Thorfinn claimed her lips, bucking his hips and grinding his rapidly hardening cock against the junction of her thighs. She bit his lip and wriggled in his grip, but her heart wasn't in it. He could tell when he slipped his tongue into her mouth to tangle it with hers, snogging her hard, needing to lay claim to her as he hadn't since the end of her fifth year when she'd spied his Dark Mark and thrown him from her bed and her life with all the fury of a vengeful Valkyrie.

Releasing his grip on her throat, Thorfinn ripped the buttons off the layers of cloaks, cardigans and coats she'd been wrapped in for her Hogsmeade trip and when he reached her singlet, he singed the fabric with his fiery rage until she laid beneath him, her chest bare. She hissed and snarled at him like a hellcat, clawing his neck and his face when he released her hands to rip open her jeans, intent on getting her naked.

"Let go," she snarled when he pinned her down with one large hand in the middle of her chest, rolling off her far enough to pull her jeans down her legs.

"Hold still unless you want to get hurt, Princess," he growled, beyond the ability to reason anymore. "And don't you dare act like you don't want this. I can see your tight nipples and…" he paused, dragging her knickers down her legs before shoving his hands between them and gathering the wetness at her centre. "And your pussy is creaming for me, baby-girl. I  _know_  you want me."

"I don't," she denied, shaking her head defiantly.

Thorfinn narrowed his eyes on her hatefully before lifting his hand from her chest and holding both hands up in surrender.

"Then get up and walk out of here, Granger," he dared.

She narrowed her eyes on him, obviously not trusting the ploy even as she rolled to her feet, magic beginning to crackle through her curls. Thorfinn recognised that fury of hers. Stubborn fucking bitch; she was going to make him chase her. She  _liked_  knowing he was hooked on her, even if she'd never admit it. Before she could take two steps and even begin to try repairing her clothes, Thorfinn reached for her, knotting one hand in her curls and pulling them hard enough to sting.

She hissed at him again, but her eyes belied her lust. With his free hand, Thorfinn popped the button on his jeans, peeling them open and letting his cock spring free. Her eyes darted down his body to drink in the sight of the appendage and Thorfinn knew he had her. She bared her teeth at him like a mongrel mutt even as she reached for his cock with both hands, gripping him so tight, his knees buckled. He pulled her down into his lap as he fell to sit on the bed, and she straddled him with practiced ease.

Thorfinn bared his teeth in return, his hand burrowing between them before he drove two fingers into her tight, wet pussy.

"Sweet fucking Circe, you're wet, baby-girl," he groaned, feeling the way her snug sheath clenched around his fingers, hungry for more, eager for what he planned to do to her.

"Shut up and fuck me, Thorfinn," she snapped, biting his neck and pumping her hands up and down his cock like a pro.

"I don't remember you being this bossy," he told her.

"I don't remember you being this annoying," she retorted as he beckoned with his fingers deep inside her. She groaned, her head dropping back and her chest sticking out, just begging for his attention.

Thorfinn gave it. He stooped, latching onto her taut right nipple and nipping the tight bud, making her gasp. She fisted his jumper, pulling at it, trying to peel him out of it, and Thorfinn smirked around her nipple when she paused, caught between the urge to get him naked, and the desire to keep from removing his mouth from her person.

Releasing her and withdrawing his hand from in between her legs, Thorfinn laughed wickedly when she mewled, not at all thrilled by the abandonment. Jerking his jumper off over his head and tossing it aside, Thorfinn reached for her, lifting her slightly and guiding her onto his cock. She was so tight that that first, slow penetration had his eyes crossing and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from coming before he'd had a chance to make her scream.

She twisted both hands into his long hair when he was fully sheathed inside her and Thorfinn practically purred when she scraped her nails against his scalp, tipping his head and stealing a kiss from his lips. She traced her tongue over his lower lip, begging entrance, and Thorfinn opened to her, hating himself for being so addicted to the sweet taste of her. Lifting her in his lap, he shuddered at the feel of her gliding up his dick before impaling herself once more.

"So fucking good," he groaned, breaking their fervid snog and bucking beneath her.

She mewled, and Thorfinn flipped them, rolling her to her back and driving into her harder. She clung to him desperately, feeling entirely too good wrapped around him like that and Thorfinn knew that if he were to die right there, with his cock still buried inside her, he'd die a happy man. The fucking bitch had the tightest pussy he'd ever fucked, and he'd almost driven himself mad seeking out other witches to crawl into bed with when Granger had cursed him for a fucking fool and ditched his sorry Death Eater arse.

"Harder, Finn," she breathed, arching under him, pulling his hair and nipping his shoulder, craving more friction. Thorfinn despised the shiver that ran down his spine at the sound of the familiar nickname on her tongue.

He was so fucked.

If the Dark Lord or the brethren could see him now, they'd skin him alive and hex him within and inch of death. Not that they didn't all occasionally fuck mudbloods themselves. It was just that Granger was Potter's Mudblood. She was too smart for her own bloody good and too outspoken about her views on blood prejudice. She'd never learned to shut her gob and just get on with things, keeping her head down and not drawing to much attention to herself. Thorfinn hated her for it because there had been a time when he'd fucking loved her for it.

"Fucking hell, Hermione," he muttered into her hair, nipping her shoulder and trying to hold off the heat scalding down his back until he could bring her off. "Fuck I've missed your tight cunt, Baby-girl."

"Ungh," she groaned, suddenly clenching around him, secretly a lover of dirty talk. Her pussy clamped down on his cock even tighter, throbbing and pulsing, milking him of everything he had and Thorfinn bit down on her shoulder as he roared, the fire of his rage mixing with the heat of his orgasm and scalding out the end of his dick, making his ache and curse and hiss.

She took it like a champion, rocking through the orgasm and wringing every last drop from him before he collapsed on top of her, pinning her to the bed and trying to catch his breath. She smoothed her fingers over his back lightly, tracing the Norse runes decorating his shoulders and learning the feel of the new scars he'd gained since the last time he'd fucked her into a stupor.

"What are you going to do, Finn?" she asked eventually when he rolled to the side to keep from crushing her, pulling her with him until she was sprawled across his chest and he could run his hands from the tops of her shoulders to the backs of her knees.

"Might fuck you again, just as soon as I can catch my breath," Thorfinn smirked.

"My friends will have alerted the teachers about you abducting me, by now," she said, reminding him that he'd snatched her from Hogsmeade and was supposed to be delivering her to the Dark Lord, rather than fucking her stupid in his bed.

"The Dark Lord will hear about this, if I let you go," he sighed. "And I'll be punished if I let you get away."

"You deserve to be punished for signing up with him in the first place," she said spitefully.

"You'd be glad to see me tortured, would you?" he asked, frowning.

She narrowed her eyes, looking like she wanted to say 'yes', before she sighed quietly.

"No," she whispered truthfully, looking regretful, as though she wished she could hate him so much as to wish such a fate upon him. "Though I might, if you take me to them."

Thorfinn didn't doubt it. The things the Dark Lord and his fellow Death Eaters would do to this witch would make what Bella had done to the Greengrass girl look like child's play.

"What have you and your Order pals done with Orias?" he asked, frowning.

"Taken him prisoner," she shrugged. "He's being held somewhere out of reach of Voldemort's goons and grilled for information about the brethren. Not that he's putting up much of a fight. He seems to have taken a shine to me, and he's definitely out for himself, first. He's flipped on most of the Death Eaters, already."

"Of course, he has," Thorfinn muttered. "Self-serving prick."

"As long as we keep him well-fed on holidays treats and he gets to see me once a week, he doesn't even complain. Everyone thought he'd be putting up a fight – and with how big he is, they thought it would be quite the fight. But he's as content as a kitten most of the time."

"You've been… meeting with him?"

Thorfinn's gut twisted at the thought that his witch might be fucking his illegitimate half-brother.

"He gets violent with the others if I don't," she frowned. "Moody decided it was best to keep him passingly pleasant rather than risking the injury to the Order members when Mulciber loses his temper."

"You're fucking him and they're just fine with whoring you out?" Thorfinn demanded.

"What?" she asked. "I'm not fucking him. I've never even snogged him."

She rolled off him and across the bed, stooping to collect her clothing. Thorfinn tensed when she picked up her wand, worried she might turn it on him. She didn't. Instead she pocketed it and continued dressing herself before handing him his shirt while he tucked himself back inside his jeans.

"I'm not done with you, Princess," he protested, eyeing her like she'd gone mad.

"Actually, you are," she said.

Thorfinn frowned at her in confusion as she tangled her hands into his mane of blond hair. He stretched up, expecting that she might be planning to kiss him, and he cursed when instead he felt the sharp tug of apparition behind his navel. They landed in a dungeon, he realised. Inside a cell, even. He looked down at the curly-haired little witch as she stepped out of his hold, pulling her wand on him and backing out of his cell before slamming the door, trapping him inside.

"Got you too, eh?" Mulciber's low voice came from somewhere to his left. Thorfinn ignored his half-brother, staring his betrayal at his witch.

"It's like that, Baby-girl?" he asked in a low voice.

"It is," she nodded, disarming him with a flick of her wand and catching his wand when it sailed out of his grip and into her waiting palm.

"I'd never have turned you over to the Dark Lord," he said, stung by the betrayal.

Her lips twisted into a resigned smile.

"I know," she nodded softly as some of the Order members came hurrying down the stairs, the crack of their arrival setting off the wards and alerting them to an intruder.

"Then why, Princess?" Thorfinn asked, ignoring the way Orias rolled to his feet and crossed his own cell, intrigued.

"Because I won't hand you over to Voldemort either, Finn," she said. "If you'd let me go, you'd have been tortured or killed. If I take you prisoner, you'll be thought inept – like him," she jerked a thumb at Mulciber, "But at least you won't have to die. We won't even hurt you, here. Much."

"Dolohov and the Lestrange brothers will come looking for us," Thorfinn warned her quietly, eyeing the Order members as Mad-Eye Moody stumped into the room, followed by Bella's niece.

"Maybe they will," Hermione nodded slowly. "But maybe I'll lure them into our clutches, too. I'm good at collecting Death Eaters, it seems."

"Only because you taste so sweet, little witch," Orias chuckled. "She lure you with sweets, too, Rowle?"

"No," Thorfinn said, refusing to let her hide the nature of their interactions prior to now. "She lured with me with her tight little cunt and the wicked way she moans my name, didn't you, Princess?"

Her cheeks flushed pink, but she shrugged. "We all have our vices, Finn."

"We do," he nodded. "Too bad you're mine, eh?"

"I would be yours in every sense of the word, had you not joined the Death Eaters in the first place," she said softly and Mulciber grunted in the cell next to his. Thorfinn clenched his fists, narrowing his eyes on her and hating the way her words were like a Cruciatus curse to the heart.

"You don't think I'm just going to play nice and wait out the war in the fucking cell, do you, baby?" he asked mildly.

"I don't think you'll have a choice, Finn," she swore. "If I can save your life and keep you from anymore darkness, I'll lock you up and throw away the key."

Thorfinn turned away, punching the wall in his fury and roaring angrily when the wretched little bitch smiled gently and backed away, letting the Order draw her up the stairs and away from him, leaving him alone with the half-brother he'd never wanted and a splintering pain in his chest that he suspected was emanating from his breaking heart.


End file.
